Box of Runes An Epic Fantasy Collection

by J. Thorn

“Our odds are better,” said Aiden.

  “One per man ain’t how it works. Watch over and behind.”

  “What do they want?”

  “They wanna tour the cave. Want me to take them through the tunnels.”

  “Why? Are they craving a dose of wet air?”

  Jaithe shrugged. “They outnumber us, the newcomers. We’d be best to satisfy their childlike curiosity to keep the friction low. I don’t know how they sit with the company, or the King, for that matter.”

  “I’d say I do,” said Ford.

  Aiden and Jaithe waited, allowing Burton the time to straighten his hat and yank his gloves up his wrists.

  “The company seeks profit. Simple.”

  “The King wants a colony to follow the Ways.”

  Ford huffed. “So says you, Jaithe. Those on the other side of the sea might beg to differ.”

  “As long as I’m heading this council, we’re walking the Ways.”

  Aiden stepped forwards and placed a hand on Jaithe’s shoulder. “Then the captain sees a price on your head, Master Jaithe.”

  Burton stared at Jaithe, unmoving and silent.

  Jaithe shook Aiden’s hand to the side and leaned forwards to spit out a few more words before the captain and Sicklemore came within earshot. “Like I said, watch over and behind.”

  The captain stopped to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. He removed a stained cloth from his pocket and pulled it down his face and over his mouth. The crumpled linen held the blood of the captain and vanquished foe alike. Jaithe smelled the dried mucus and fought to keep from gagging.

  “Blastin’ the rays of the arrivin’ Sun God. Folly to the jolly!”

  Ford, Aiden, and Jaithe straightened up, their hands hanging at their sides.

  “Didn’t see yer feet movin’ through so early, Sir Ford.”

  Burton tipped his hat to the captain, never taking his eyes off the man’s face.

  “You all know my associate, apprentice mapmaker Michael Sicklemore. I brung ’em to chart the tunnels so we don’t find ourselves walking in circles and collapsin’ in those miserable caves.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. I know the tunnels,” said Jaithe.

  Russell spit a wad of brown slime on Aiden’s boot. “I think it will,” he replied.

  Aiden shook his leg and launched the phlegm to a nearby rock, where it landed and dribbled down the side. He stepped up to the captain, ready to answer the insult.

  Michael Sicklemore moved between the two. “Believe I can speak for the captain.”

  “As you wish,” replied Aiden.

  His arm reached back into the air and came forwards with an uncanny accuracy. His balled fist slammed into Sicklemore’s jaw with a wet crunch. The momentum of the blow pulled Aiden forwards, and both men crashed into the low underbrush beneath the entrance to the cave. Jaithe, Ford, and the captain stood frozen in the moment.

  Sicklemore came up first, spitting syrupy blood and pieces of teeth. His hat came off, revealing a bird’s nest of hair on his head, complete with pieces of stick and straw. He hunched over, gasping and spitting while Aiden rolled onto his back and jumped up. Sicklemore charged him, head down and arms outstretched as if delivering a warm embrace. The soles of Aiden’s boots came into the air, and Sicklemore landed on him, driving out his breath. He sat on Aiden’s chest while swatting at his flailing arms. Sicklemore delivered three straight jabs to Aiden’s face, all connecting with echoing slaps. Aiden’s boots rose again. In one motion, he locked the bottom of his heels on the front of Sicklemore’s shoulders and pulled him down with his legs. Sicklemore’s head bounced off the frozen ground, and his tongue fell out of his mouth.

  Aiden clamored off the ground, gasping and shaking his head from left to right. Blood dripped from his nose in a steady stream, and his left eye had swelled shut. He mumbled something before launching into Sicklemore, who fought for consciousness as he raised his arms across his face to protect from more blows. Aiden drove the toe of his boot into Sicklemore’s ribs, forcing the man to wheeze through bloody teeth.

  A crack split the cold air and reverberated across the barren, rolling hills. Aiden froze, his fist poised to punish.

  “Now that you men have had yer morning rituals, I’d like to get this sortie on the move.”

  Smoke drifted from the end of the iron barrel the captain grasped. Jaithe and Ford stepped back.

  “Let ’em up, Aiden,” said Jaithe.

  Aiden sighed at the captain as the feral look slid from his face. He stepped backwards and collapsed in the snow.

  “Will the savages be joining our expedition? Maybe they can follow the trail of blood back out of the tunnels?”

  The captain roared with laughter and slapped Ford on the back. “They teach you the funnies with the fancy schoolings?”

  Jaithe reached out and pulled Aiden to his feet. He nodded, and an unspoken message passed between the men.

  “Who be usin’ the powder up here? I’ll pay handsomely for the first cut, rear quarter, if I may.”

  The captain turned and saw Toman striding up the trail towards the entrance to the cave. “Not thinkin’ we need any more hands in the brew,” said Russell.

  “I’m thinkin’ I don’t really answer to you, seein’ as how I’m on the council. What say ya, Jaithe? Can you use ‘nother set of eyes in there?”

  Jaithe looked at Aiden. He shook his head. “Might be wise to have Aiden stationed at the entrance, should we have a need to deliver a message back to the newcomers. I’d like to have you on, Toman. Find yourself a torch.”

  Toman winked at the captain as he walked past. “Will Mr. Sicklemore be joining us, dear Captain?”

  The captain looked at Ford and then at Sicklemore, who was hunched over at the waist, shaking his head and spraying blood on the snow.

  “Mr. Sicklemore will indeed be joinin’ us. Can’t imagine headin’ into the bowels of the earth without me navigator. It’s doubtful that a gentleman would hold the skills necessary to get the captain outta a jam.”

  Jaithe stepped towards the cave and looked over his shoulder. “If we want to be out before nightfall, we need to go.”

  Aiden sat on a stone outside the entrance and looked up as the men filed by, one at a time. Toman dropped in behind Jaithe, followed by Ford, Sicklemore, and the captain in the rear. Russell winked at Brinton as they passed the young man in hiding.

  Chapter 21

  Kelsun shook. He flailed his head and formed the involuntary grin of one on the verge of consciousness, caught in the limbo of the dream world and the real one. The odor of human waste filled his nostrils. He felt the wet, cold streak of urine on his left pant leg. Kelsun screamed, and the echo hurt his hears, threatening to split his skull. The pinpoint of light no longer cut through the gloom. He heard the wind winding through the tunnels in the distance, whistling tunes of despair to the lost and the bound.

  He shifted his weight to the right, taking pressure from his left arm. The bicep muscle twitched and then tingled before feeling returned, being chased by a dull ache.

  The darkness came forwards to greet him. He felt it crawling on his skin like insects with a thousand feet, scurrying across his body and through his clothes. Kelsun heard murmurings and whispers that he could no longer dismiss as the wind. A single strand of hair fell into his face, irritating and annoying him.

  “I can’t,” he cried. The tears marched down his cheek and plunged into the darkness.

  “Don’t start that. They feast on it.”

  Kelsun turned his head towards the voice, even though he knew his eyes would not reveal a form.

  “I wanna die.”

  “It ain’t gonna let that happen. Not gonna let you out like that. Trust me, I know.”

  Kelsun shook, unable to release the physical rage building inside. “Can’t stop me from doin’ it myself.”

  “Really? Go on and try.”

  He spit. A low rumble started in Kelsun’s stomach, surged through his
chest, and exploded from his lips.

  “C’mon, do it.”

  Kelsun flailed, the chains smashing into the wall and into his limbs. He continued for several minutes until the last of the burst ended with a whimper and heavy breathing. “I’ll figure a way.”

  “Like me? Think I’m stayin’ here to keep away yer lonelies? You make sure you tell me ‘fore you do it so I can watch.”

  He felt the presence fade like the stillness of the air before a storm. Kelsun shifted his weight, trying to keep feeling in his arms. The chains held him to the earth and threatened to pull him under.

  Time passed without measure. Kelsun imagined days going by with only the brightening and disappearance of the pinpoint of light as an indicator. The satchels and cisterns on the floor of the cavern would change positions, usually without the guidance of a human hand. Kelsun’s stomach felt less empty during certain times. He guessed his captor wanted him alive, but barely.

  The sound of clanging metal roused Kelsun from his daze. He could no longer tell the difference between day and night, cold or warm, waking or sleeping.

  “Whoizzit?” The question came out as a slur.

  “Once you start hearin’ stuff, you know you’s in a bad place.”

  Kelsun bit his lower lip enough to draw blood. The salty taste tinged his dry tongue. The voice had taken a masculine quality earlier in his imprisonment, but now morphed into a feminine timbre.

  “Do not speak. Unless you have something righteous you want to share, or hope you want to give, keep your mouth shut,” Kelsun said.

  A girlish giggle came from the darkness. It sounded forced and artificial. “Why you here?”

  “Like I know!” screamed Kelsun.

  “I mean here, in the Commonwealth. Not here, chained in this cave.”

  “None of your concern.”

  “Fine. I’ll shut up and let you listen to the dripping water boring a hole in your forehead.”

  Kelsun froze and clung to the conversation for his life.

  “Sorry, sorry. Please don’t leave me again.”

  “I ain’t gone nowhere.”

  “My uncle, he took me in after my folks passed. Been looking after me like a son.”

  “How so?”

  “My folks’ demise?”

  “For starters.”

  “I was little. Don’t remember much other than feelings, blurry images.” Kelsun attempted to lick his upper lip with a tongue of dead bark. It became harder to speak, his throat swollen and dry. His speech reverted back to the dialect of his stolen childhood.

  “We was only off the boat for a few weeks, stumblin’ through the Commonwealth. We’d seen the Naturals hidin’ behind trees and rocks, lookin’ at us like the deer. Nobody thought nuthin’ of it. Nobody expected it.”

  “Expected what?”

  “Tell ya if you stop yer interruptin’.” Kelsun felt the nod of compliance he could not see. “It had been a tough day. Least that’s what I recall. Mama said we was runnin’ out of water and my pa talked of takin’ to the hunt in the morn. Didn’t have no brothers or sisters to help. Pa told me one time that my comin’ ruined Ma for any future kin.

  “So we was sittin’ round the fire at the edge of the cave, a few yards from Uncle Jaithe and his family. My ma noticed ’em first. By the time she screamed, they was on us. Like I said, I don’t know if I can even remember what happened beyond the fear and the pain. I woke up to a beam of sunshine blastin’ my good eye. The other one wouldn’t open. I saw my ma’s arm on the side and I knew from the look of it that she was gone. It looked pale, almost blue. When I touched it, her cold skin made me moan. I turned my head to the other side and saw my pa on his back. He ain’t never slept like that, outside his bedroll, so I knew somethin’ wasn’t right there either.

  “I sat up and wished I hadn’t. Pa’s clothes was covered with a dark stain. He held a club in one hand and the other arm was twisted in some vile position. When my eyes got to his head is when I seen it was gone. The Naturals took it.” Kelsun took deep breaths, filled with a rattling in his chest.

  “Uncle Jaithe had four of his own. He took me in and fixed up my wounds. Aunt Shella never took a likin’ to me. She always looked away, avoidin’ the conversation. Don’t know what I woulda done without Uncle Jaithe.”

  The presence sighed, followed by a faint scratching. “You say he treated you like his son?”

  “That’s what I said, unless you got somethin’ wrong with your ears and ya need me to say it again.”

  “You say Shella ain’t never took to ya.”

  Kelsun groaned and looked upward. The pinpoint of light was not there. How many nights? he thought. “She had four of her own. That ain’t no small feat, ya know.”

  The presence giggled again. Kelsun grew to despise the sound of it.

  “Was yer pa Jaithe’s brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So yer ma, she had no blood to Jaithe or Shella?”

  “No.”

  The presence stopped talking. A low whistle moved through the cavern. It brought a rank wind originating deep within the earth.

  “You got somethin’ you wanna tell me?” asked Kelsun. Emotion crept into his voice, causing it to crack and waver as if he were speaking in the eye of the storm.

  “Nuthin’ you ain’t already spoke of.”

  Kelsun shifted his weight again. He turned to face his left arm and noticed the links of the chain extended to the cavern wall above.

  “Think I could get one of these ‘round my neck?”

  The presence held the silence. Kelsun felt its energy and knew it was not ready to leave.

  “I think you oughta ask yer uncle some questions.” The voice dragged out the word ‘uncle’ with a bitter spin.

  “And I think you oughta shut the fuck up.” Kelsun closed his eyes and willed his body into a fitful, light sleep.

  ***

  The Journal of Edward Jaithe, 15 January

  The exploration of the cave drew attention to the motives of the newcomers. I feared entering those dark spaces without Aiden at my side, but he was in no shape to attend to my protection.

  We started by passing through my domicile. Shella had made it a point to be in the village, taking care of family business. Brinton remained in the shadows, per my instructions.

  I familiarized myself with the first set of tunnels and had used them to hide during various emergencies and attacks, the most vicious being from the other settlement, not from the Naturals. We passed meager stores and empty casks until the tunnel branched into three channels. The two on the right filtered black, gurgling water downward, making the choice apparent. A couple of oily torches jutted out from cracks in the cavern’s walls, which we made useful to our expedition.

  The captain continued to push his jolly demeanor, as if the trip were one of pleasure, walking through a flowery meadow during the Season of Life. The other men remained silent, speaking only when necessary to guide the party through the channels.

  Sicklemore stayed close to the captain. He walked close enough for me to hear the results of his tussle with Aiden. Toman and Ford walked directly behind me, not bothering with introductions or the origins of friendship.

  We followed the single tunnel until it dropped us into another causeway. The air took the quality of such deep in the earth. It felt heavy, old, tired. Water moving through the caverns over eons left us with echoing sounds throughout the journey. The captain eventually gave up his happy façade or sobered without another flask to shove down his gullet.

  The party stopped a half-day’s journey into the mountain before a decision had to be made.

  “Seems as if we need to turn if we intend to exit before the night falls,” I said.

  The captain shrugged. “Don’t see the need for that,” he replied.

  Sir Ford rambled on, the way learned men can do. Toman and Sicklemore sat fatigued and drained from the exertion. Sicklemore continued to feel the effects of the altercation, while Toman felt th
e effects of his sloth.

  “I’m willing to take you as deep as I can, for the good of the Commonwealth, of course. But I hasten to drop further into the bosom of the Mother without knowing what natural pitfalls may await us.”

  The captain seemed unmoved by my warning. So, after a round of herb and the unrelenting sound of dripping water, we pushed on. The quality of the air inside the caverns deteriorated. I cannot say I understand how, or in what context, but it felt bitter, like swallowing powerful medicinals. The men refrained from conversation, leaving the sound of our grunting exertions as we followed the tunnel down.

  Toman broke the silence after several hours of walking. “My torch ain’t gonna last much more. Sure we’s got another to light?”

  The men stopped and stood in a circle in the middle of the tunnel. They all shook their heads as the cold air snuffed the last lift from Toman’s flame.

  “Have you seen what your eyes have desired?” I asked the captain.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked to Sicklemore, who put his head down.

  “See no harm in pushin’ on a bit,” replied Russell.

  The other men sighed. Ford’s shoulders collapsed into his chest as he turned and fell into line. Toman appeared on my right and spoke in a hushed tone.

  “How far ya takin’ him?”

  “Into the bowels of the Mother, if that’s what he desires.”

  My reply unsettled Toman, and he kicked his feet down the path, swinging his arms about.

  A shout from the front of the party, probably from Sicklemore, stopped us. He rambled words that rang throughout the space.

  I pushed past Toman and Ford and stood between the captain and Sicklemore on the threshold of a sight like no other.

  Fine rays of light flickered throughout the space as if we stood on the Moon Goddess. Slanting monoliths of white crystal ran the length of the cavern from the vaulted ceiling to the floor. They crossed each other in various patterns and configurations, all like a sentry protecting the stone altar. Crystal flowers sprung up from the gray dirt of the floor like lilies in a meadow. The heads of the flowers blossomed with yellow and green quartz. Toman reached for one of the quartz blossoms before I could grab his hand, and he shrieked and stared at the crimson line drawn on his palm. The crystals sat as sharp as swords and sliced the flesh of any careless enough to touch them.